1993 Biking Britain
Scotland
From John O’Groats I cycled west across the
north coast of Scotland
via May, Reay, Melvich, Bettyhill and Tongue to Durness. Then zigzagged south
and east to Lairg and back to Ullapool on the west coast. From Ullapool east
across the peninsula to Inverness and
southwest down the great glen along the shores of Loch Ness, Loch Oich and Loch
Lochy to Glencoe. Thence via Stirling to Bathgate and Edinburgh
and south then through the Borders towns of Peebles and Melrose
and Bonchester Bridge to the English border at
Deadwater Farm.
Scotland
is varied and beautiful. Caithness county in
the northeast is relatively flat, very green and famous for its sheep and
potatoes. The Scottish highlands begin further west in Sutherland county where
there are only six people per square mile. The treeless hills here are dotted
with tiny lochs with strange names and cliffs drop into the angry grey sea.
At Bettyhill, my B&B hostess served me
a hasty supper and sent me out to listen to her husband play the bagpipes in
Helmsdale on the east coast. We drove through untamed countryside and back
after 11pm – encountering on our return journey hundreds of red deer grazing in the light of the setting
sun. Outside Durness I met a salmon fisherman with a fruit BBC accent and
designer tweed knickerbockers and matching cap who had caught two salmon using
a Hairy Mary.
The roads on the whole are single track and
untrammeled this far north, but once you reach the great glen you’ll find
tourists galore. At the Loch Ness Monster Exhibition Centre I discovered that
it would be possible to submerge the entire population of the world ten times
over in the waters of the loch – so much for over-population!
From tiny Glencoe, for ten exhausting
miles, the road rises gently to the top of Rannoch Moor. Through stunning scenery:
peaks where snow still lay trapped, isolated moors, clear cold streams, tiny
lakes and waterfalls, thistles and foxgloves a-bloom.
The Borders district is all gentle hills
and lovely stone towns and Abbey ruins in pink sandstone. Unemphatic and pleasing.
In Bonchester Bridge, I pitched my tent beside a
gentle brook and awoke beside a river that had risen over one foot during the
long wet night!
And onward then to England!
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